Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/256

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I must not, on so sweet a night, Think upon dark Glencoe.

If thought were vengeance, then its thought A ceaseless fire should be, Burning by day, burning by night, Kept like a thought of thee.

But I am powerless and must flee;— That e'er a time should come, When we should shun our own sweet land, And seek another home!

This must not be,—yon soft moonlight Falls on my heart like balm; The waves are still, the air is hushed, And I too will be calm.